Category: Momming

Life, Momming

It Could Have Been Me.

Megan

By now you’ve probably heard of Lindsay Clancy, the 32 year old Massachusetts mom who took the lives of her three children and attempted to take her own life due to postpartum mental illness. The story strikes a chord with this mom of three because it could have been me.

When my daughter, my second child, was a few weeks old, I began having intrusive thoughts—thoughts of how fragile she was, how easily something could happen, the fact that I was physically capable of causing her harm. These thoughts absolutely horrified me.

I begin to ”reassure” myself that I would NEVER harm my babies, and that I would rather kill myself than my babies. As the thoughts of harming my children intensified, I became so afraid that I would give in, so I thought more frequently about harming myself before I could harm my babies. I felt like I was living a nightmare.

As terrifying as the thoughts were, I was afraid to say anything to anyone. I was afraid I would be institutionalized and my babies taken from our home. I began to research postpartum mental illness. Was I psychotic? After reading the description, I didn’t think so. I read about Postpartum OCD, and realized my symptoms aligned. I was relieved to see that women with Postpartum OCD rarely acted on the intrusive thoughts and were more horrified to be having the thoughts in the first place.

I reached out to my midwife, and I started medication and therapy. The journey to healing was long. It was not an overnight thing. I had to learn to fight, to fill my mind with the truth of God’s Word, to recognize that the thoughts were unwelcome and held no power. Even after the intrusive thoughts ceased, the trauma caused my those nightmarish days, weeks, and months remained. Three years later, I’ve noticed myself no longer dealing with the trauma induced anxiety. It’s been a long journey.

New Mama, if you are feeling off, anxious, down, hopeless, or are having intrusive thoughts, please do not suffer alone. Do not stay silent. Please reach out for help. I know even getting help feels scary and means being vulnerable, but you can do it. You are braver than you know. This nightmare doesn’t last forever. There is hope for your future. I’m here if you need to talk or if you need encouragement to take the next step towards healing.

New Dad, I know her hormones have her all over the place, but try to keep an eye on her. Check in with her. See how she’s doing, how she’s really doing. Don’t settle for surface level answers. Let her know that you are available and are a safe place for her. Be her advocate.

I share my story, not because I am brave or courageous, but because in doing so I get to redeem those dark days. My hope and prayer is that women who suddenly find themselves facing postpartum mental illness will see that they are not alone, be encouraged to take the seemingly scary steps towards healing, and see that there is hope for their future. I can’t change my story, but in sharing in it, I may be able to change someone else’s.

Now it’s your turn. What story do YOU have to tell? What have you survived, overcome, or experienced? Who needs to hear that there is hope on the other side of your experiences? Who needs to know they’re not alone and that you have also gone through what they’re going through? Who needs to be encouraged to take the next right step—just like you did?

Our stories are powerful. Our stories can change the stories of those around us—if we tell them. We need your story! Will you tell it?

Faith, Life, Momming

Secrets to Tell

Megan

Hello! It’s been a minute since I last posted. There’s a reason for that. For those of you who don’t know me in person, I’ve been keeping a secret.

I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t find a way to share my news. The longer I waited to share, the more of a challenge it became. But, I’m ready now.

In January my family and I visited my parents’ for a long overdue sibling reunion. At the time of our visit, we were on month thirteen of praying, trying, and waiting for baby #3.

My husband had been diagnosed with male factor infertility, and I was a month away from having an appointment with my ob/gyn to start trying to see what, if any, other issues we were dealing with. A few days before we left for my parents’ I had a time of deep, fervent prayer.

I had been listening to Genesis, and had, for some reason, been reading in 1 Samuel. Over and over, I had heard about women whose wombs were opened and who had then conceived. I brought their stories before God. If He could do it for them, He could do it for me. I pleaded with Him to allow just one sperm to reach an egg—knowing that nothing is impossible for God.

As I prayed, a word popped into my mind: Jezreel. My first thought was, “Am I supposed to name a baby Jezreel?” I quickly decided that was not it, and grabbed my phone to find out just what the word meant. I cried as I read that it means “God will sow.” My husband’s main fertility issue was immotility. God sowing was exactly what we needed.

I was cautiously hopeful. I didn’t want to be disappointed, but I felt certain I had heard from God. But what if He hadn’t meant He’d sow that particular month?

While at my parents’, I had some spotting, and I knew we were about to begin month fourteen of waiting. I was very upset and very emotional. I spent time praying and journaling. I was ready to be done trying, done hoping, done being disappointed. In addition to being tired, I was also so confused.

While I was still pregnant with my daughter, I told my mom and my husband that if we had a third, I thought it would be a boy. At some point towards the end of my pregnancy, I’d had a vision. A split second picture in my mind of sitting with my feet on an ottoman, with my son facing me on my left, and my daughter facing me on my right. My daughter had light hair, and it was pulled back into a ponytail. On my lap, I held a tiny, dark haired baby boy, and he was dressed in warm weather clothing.

My husband and I both have dark hair, so having a blonde wasn’t even on my radar. Shortly after she was born, her dark hair fell out, and was replaced by blonde curls. My conviction that the picture had come from God grew. In the months that followed my daughter’s birth, that mental image had become a source of hope.

As I walked through the nightmare of postpartum anxiety and OCD with terrifying intrusive thoughts, that picture gave me hope that I had a future. Not only would my life not end because of my postpartum nightmare, but I would recover and have a third. I held on to that vision.

So when thirteen months went by without a baby on the way, I struggled to make sense. Was the vision from God? Was I supposed to keep waiting for it to be fulfilled? Could I, should I, surrender the vision and live outside of the hopeful expectation for its fulfillment? I could have been content with my two kids if not for the vision of a third.

After spending time crying and praying at my parents’ on what I was convinced was the eve of month fourteen, I talked with my husband who suggested I take a pregnancy test. So my sister and I went to Walmart late that night. I was too impatient to wait until morning to test, and I prepared myself for the possibility that if it was negative, it could be a false negative because I was testing at night.

I was stunned to see a positive.

Elijah Michael was born last week. His name is a declaration.

Elijah: My God is Yahweh.

Michael: Who is like God?

He is indeed tiny, the smallest of my babies. He has dark hair, and it is still hot outside.

I am overjoyed and overwhelmed. I now have absolutely no doubt that my vision was from God, and I’m still in awe that God showed him to me three years before he was born.

My God is Yahweh. Who is like God?

If you are walking through the valley of infertility, I would be honored to pray for you. Be encouraged and know that nothing is impossible for God.

Faith, Life, Momming

Redeemed

Megan

We all have unpleasant memories. We’ve all experienced painful situations and seasons. One of my most terrifying experiences happened two years ago, and the worst of it started around Mother’s Day weekend. This isn’t your typical Mother’s Day blog post, but this is a story that needs to be told.

I was the stereotypical girly-girl growing up. I loved dresses, playing dress up in my mom’s old formal gowns, having tea parties, painting my nails, and playing with dolls. I dreamed of getting married and having kids. My dream of being a mom came true a couple of weeks before my 28th birthday. Six months after my son was born, I discovered I was expecting a second baby.

My kids are two of the greatest joys in my life, and I am honored to be there mom. However, after my daughter was born, I began experiencing postpartum anxiety and terrifying intrusive thoughts about the potential dangers for my new baby and the harm I had the power to cause. These horrible, unwanted thoughts led me to have thoughts of harming myself, lest I harm my precious daughter. I suffered in silence for many weeks out of fear that my children would be taken away. I knew I had to get help when I found myself crying in our bathroom closet.

I reached out to my midwife, began medication, and got into therapy. For the first few moths of medication and therapy, I felt broken and afraid I would never feel whole or normal ever again. I leaned on and clung to God. I filled my mind with His truth, and gradually the intrusive thoughts faded.

Two years later, I can finally say I’m beginning to feel “normal” again. Certain situations still trigger memories of the thoughts I had during my nightmare, but they no longer control me, paralyze me with fear, cause me to question myself and my identity, or cover me in waves of anxiety. In time, my scars may fade, and the memories of my nightmare may become dim and dull. But for now, I redeem my nightmare. I do not let it shame me into silence. If one woman finds hope and the courage to reach out for help because of my story, it will all have been worth it.

Postpartum anxiety is eclipsed by postpartum depression. We hear about postpartum depression, we’re given signs to watch for, but until two years ago, this mama had no idea to watch for anxiety or OCD in the months following the births of my children. Maybe this is the first time you’ve heard of anything besides postpartum depression. I highly encourage you to research it and to learn what to watch for in yourself and/or in the women around you.

This Mother’s Day weekend, if you are struggling in the postpartum phase, please reach out to your OB/GYN or midwife and a therapist. Do not let fear isolate you. You do not have to fight alone. There is hope, and you will be able to celebrate being a mother in time.

Faith, Momming

Twelve

Megan

Today was the day. Today contained a milestone I had hoped I wouldn’t have to see. At first, I was confident I wouldn’t see it, and then, as time passed, my confidence faded. Today marks twelve months of negatives.

Twelve months of not being pregnant. Twelve months of hope ending in disappointment. Twelve months of praying. Twelve months of waiting. Twelve months of dreaming.

Infertility is defined as twelve months of failing to conceive, and we are there. We’ve had a male factor infertility diagnosis for a couple of months now (considerably worse than it was in 2017), and I have an appointment scheduled with my OB/GYN next month. Hopefully we’ll get some answers.

When we first started trying for a third, I was confident it would happen quickly. When I got pregnant the first time, it was the week after we were prayed for and I surrendered to God. I got a positive pregnancy test when my son was only six months old, and the odds of conceiving had been extremely, extremely low. Because we’d gotten pregnant easily after being prayed for and we’d had a surprise pregnancy, I thought we were done with difficulty getting pregnant.

I was wrong.

While this time around has been a little easier because I do have two incredible little blessings, it has still been hard.

I’ve struggled.

I’ve struggled because so many of the people around me get pregnant right away. I envy their ease and the fact that they don’t have to walk through this valley.

I’ve struggled because it doesn’t match what I’d dreamed of. I’d wanted four kids, but I may only have two, and if God blesses us, three. The thought of a third being too much younger than the first two makes me sad because I was three years older than my brother who was less than two years older than our sister, and I felt alone. I don’t want that for my kids.

Mostly, I struggle because I know God is good and that He is able—I’ve seen it. Walking through this, it doesn’t feel like God is good or loving. I sometimes feel unseen, unloved, and unheard. I know that I’ve done all that I can do (at least until my doctor appointment), and that He is the only one who can do anything, but He hasn’t blessed us with another baby yet. If I’m honest, knowing He is the only one who can do anything, makes me reluctant to really pursue the relationship with Him that I want. My perspective needs to shift because this situation is not evidence of His lack of affection, nor is it proof that He has stopped being good.

What does this situation say?

He sees the big picture. He sees things I can’t see. He knows what is best for me and for my family. His heart is for me and my family, for our growth and for our good, because good and loving are literally descriptions of who He is. He knows exactly what my family and I need and when we need it, and because He and His character do not change, He can be trusted.

His timing is better than mine (as much as it pains me to say it). The wait doesn’t mean He has forgotten me, and it doesn’t mean He says “no”. We went to my parents’ house for Christmas this year, and because I knew there’s a bit of a letdown after Christmas, I decided we’d save our family gifts until we got back, so that we had something to look forward to. It was torture for me! I was tempted to give my husband and kids their gifts before we left. I was so anxious for them to have the gifts underneath the tree, even without their asking to open them! I had to say “no: when they asked because it wasn’t the right time yet. I was so excited for the day to come when I could finally let them open their gifts.

He is growing me, teaching me, shaping me, and deepening me through this time. Growth hurts. But you know what would be worse? Being stuck the way I am. As a mom, I want my kids to be capable. I want them to be able to solve problems and to do things for themselves. I don’t always rush to help them when they ask—instead, I will walk them through how they can accomplish whatever it is they’re needing help with. Can you imagine what life would be like if I rushed in to save the day every time they complained or faced something unpleasant? They would have never learned how to hold their heads up or how to roll over, how to crawl, sit, stand, walk, run, or jump. I’m so thankful God does not leave me as I am, but rather He continues to grow and shape me.

What are you learning from the season you’re in? What aspects of God’s character are you clinging in this season? What truths are you holding on to even when they don’t feel true in this moment?

Faith, Life, Momming

Is It Well?

Megan

Fun fact about me: I’m an Air Force brat. My dad was in the Air Force until I was 16. I’ve moved a total of 11 times, and lived in 5 states (6 if you count college) and two countries. Nine out of the first 13 years of my life were spent living in base housing (two of the houses we lived in were either condemned or torn down right after we moved out). So we never really settled in, and we knew those houses weren’t truly going to be home.

The year after we got married, we moved out of the house my husband bought when he was 24 (by putting the down payment on his credit card via a cash advance……..) and we bought our first house together. It’s a split level with four floors, and after finishing the basement, we’re sitting at about 2,200 square feet. We’ve done a lot to this house. We’ve refinished the kitchen, replaced the flooring on the main level, refinished the fireplace with shiplap, replaced the windows, replaced the hall bathtub and surround, replaced the vanity in our tiny master bath, finish about half of the basement, replaced the back door, relocated the door to the garage back to its original location, and replaced or refinished a few lights. The projects seem endless, and so many places in the house don’t quite feel finished or fully decorated.

Our master bedroom had been untouched until last year. We had the mismatched chest of drawers we had each brought into the marriages, and hand-me-down decorations on our walls. After I refinished our headboard and a matching set of dressers we found on Marketplace, our room felt so much more cohesive. The newly refinished furniture necessitated a new wall color, which meant new wall decorations were required. I found a couple of pieces I loved at Hobby Lobby for our room, and one that was perfect for our bathroom (did I mention how tiny our bathroom is?). It wasn’t until last month that I realized just how perfect the artwork was for our bathroom.

If you know my story, you may remember it took us a lot longer to conceive our firstborn than I had expected it would. We received a male factor infertility diagnosis the month of our first anniversary. It wasn’t what we had hoped for, but it was good to have some clarity. On our anniversary, we made a stop at IKEA. As soon as we got off of the escalator, my husband pointed out a family not too far from us and asked if that was the associate pastor of the church I had attended and worked at before getting married. It was. We were an hour from home, and they were two hours from home, and some how we were in the same place, at the same huge store, at the same time. They had been a blessing to me while my husband and I were dating, and knowing they had dealt with infertility, I confided in the pastor’s wife. Before we said goodbye, they prayed for us (specifically that we’d have 100 babies). Later that week, I spent time praying and surrendering to God, knowing that I needed Him to do something—whether that was healing me/my husband, taking away my desire for children, or at the very least assuring me that He was with me through the desert of infertility. I heard from God, and I knew He had either healed us or that He was least with us.

Two weeks later, I cried my eyes out when I saw the second line that I had prayed to see for so many months. When my son was six months old, I was shocked to see another positive pregnancy test. I love my two little ones! I think they’re pretty cute and special.

I’ve been on both sides. I’ve experienced the exhausting roller coaster of hope and disappoint, the frustration, the jealousy, the questions, and the waiting that infertility brings. I’ve experienced the surprise, fear, and bittersweetness that an unexpected pregnancy brings. Both experiences solidified my conviction that God is the author of life, and whether I’m trying to conceive or trying to prevent pregnancy, He is the giver of life, and it comes in His timing.

A little over two years after our surprise positive pregnancy, we’re back to dealing with infertility. I’m back to seeing one line, when I have hoped and prayed to see two lines. Today we received a test result that shows our fertility has decreased since we were trying to conceive the first time. The doctor suggested we see a reproductive endocrinologist, which seems to say IUI or IVF are the next steps to take medically.

My heart is heavy. This is month ten, and I’m weary in this wait. This feels hopeless, medically speaking. My heart and arms long for another baby. While I was still pregnant with my second, I believe God gave me a vision of a third, a little boy in a blue and white striped romper. It sounds crazy, but I saw my older two sitting in front of me and the tiny little boy I held, and while I never pictured myself having a blonde baby and am still surprised that I have a blonde, my daughter had light hair.

I know nothing is too difficult for God. I know God is the giver of life. I know if the vision truly was from Him, He is able to give me a third. I know He has a good plan. I know He has perfect timing.

And yet, I’m still heavy hearted. I still feel like crying. I’m frustrated and disappointed in myself for feeling this was despite my faith and knowledge. I remember that Jesus cried at Lazarus’s tomb, despite His power and plan to raise him back to life.

Infertility is like exercise for my faith. It isn’t fun. It hurts. I don’t enjoy it. But I know that it’s good for my faith. I know that when my faith is put to the test, I get to see God’s hand at work.

And so, the artwork hanging in my bathroom is unintentionally perfect. As I wait for the tests to show one line or two, I see the words, “It is well with my soul.”

After I read the test and my hope turns to disappointment or to joy, I read the words, “It is well with my soul.”

Whether or not it feels good, “It is well with my soul.”

Whether or not I feel it in that moment, “It is well with my soul.”

This is one of those times it doesn’t feel good, and I don’t feel like “it is well”. But I know the truth is that God is faithful, able, sovereign, and so good. Despite my feelings, it truly is well.